Writing these columns for the last couple of years has brought me so much joy that I have decided to celebrate by changing the name of my writings to The Joyful Botanist. And nothing says launching a new name than launching a revolution while you’re at it. So, let’s start a revolution! 

My dog Magnolia and I have been together for around 16 years. She’s a good dog. We used to wander all over the mountains searching for wildflowers, waterfalls and beautiful views.

There are a few native plants whose names I call out loud like a prayer whenever I see them. This is especially true since the crazy times of the global pandemic and resulting shutdown. One of those is the whorled loosestrife (Lysimachia quadrifolia) whose name I slowly pronounce out loud as a benediction, “world, lose strife.” And I mean it. 

Please don’t get me wrong, I love the orchids of springtime. Love them. They tend to be as big and showy and beautiful as springtime itself.  Ladyslipper orchids, both yellow and pink (Cypripedium acaule and C. parviflorum) and showy orchis (Galearis spectabilis) are certainly beautiful and fun to see blooming in the woods in the spring.  

Our culture tends to celebrate youth and youthfulness above all other life phases. Growth and vitality are venerated over age and wisdom. This wasn’t always the case.

If a tree falls in the forest and no one is around to cut it up and use it for heat or timber, is it a waste of resources? Or, put another way, are humans the only reason that all other life on Earth was created?

I wear a few different hats in my world. A big straw hat for working in the garden or walking out in the sun. Wool caps and toboggans for the colder mornings of spring. Party hats for the celebrations. I’ve even been known to wear a tricorne hat when visiting Colonial Williamsburg as a kid. 

In springtime, all things are possible. Everything around you that is alive is imbued right now with the same hopeful energy.

I’ve been writing this column for over a year and a half and every plant that I have highlighted and celebrated evolved and co-evolved in the bioregion of Southern Appalachia.

To get through the winter, some plants go underground to take advantage of the earth’s insulation, while others stay above ground and protect themselves in other ways.